


Tempting Fate

by highestkingbambi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW, References to Depression, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:03:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi/pseuds/highestkingbambi
Summary: For the first time in his life, Quentin thinks he knows what he wants. Unfortunately the universe has other ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

Laughing at someone’s joke regarding the best grad school to go to work at a specific firm was the first sign that Quentin had drank too much. He’d hardly paid attention the way he’d nervously drowned one rum and coke after another while pretending he too really cared what Julia’s friend’s were talking about while filling up the living area of their shared apartment. 

His best friend had decided to throw a part for her boyfriend’s birthday without telling him, and even though she had every right to do so, being the actual owner of the unit, it still pissed him off. And since Quentin didn’t do pissed off very well, he just ended up tipsy.

Unable to pretend any longer, and desperate for some personal space, he grabbed the closest glass and wandered away from the conversation. No word of goodbye, he made his way to his bedroom, stopping only to fill the glass from a bottle of wine left unattended on the coffee table. 

Behind closed doors, he sunk into his bed. Wine glass held precariously above him, he used his free hand to locate the book on his nightstand, and brought it to his nose. The first line of the fifth chapter hung before his eyes, and he tried and failed to concentrate hard enough to understand what it said. Accepting that an escape to the magical world of Fillory was out of the question, he dropped the book beside his bed, and downed the glass of wine and laid back down - perhaps he could just fall asleep and when he woke up, everyone would be gone. 

Engrossed in his thoughts, he barely noticed the door to his bedroom creep open, nor the tall stranger who quickly filled the gap. Only at the sound of footsteps creaking on the wooden floorboards did he acknowledge he was no longer alone.

“Hey Jules, you know I love you, but like, I just cant keep faking interest in your boyfriend’s friends, just like, you know, call me out when you sing happy birthday, or don’t,” he said, eyes closed and silently begging she listened to him.

“First of all, rude.”

It wasn’t Julia. 

“You’re not-“ Quentin’s eyes flickered open to see a man he’d never met before. Tall, with dark curls and an angular face that somehow looked regal rather than harsh. He was more stylishly dressed than Julia and her boyfriend’s friends too, all prints and and layers, but no gingham in sight. 

“Eliot,” the stranger introduced himself. “And I’m not interested in bringing you out to sing happy birthday,” he grinned. “I didn’t even know that’s what we were celebrating.”

“Can I uh, help you?” he asked as he pushed himself up on the bed. It felt bizarre to lay down while the other man stood, towering over his small frame. 

“I just wanted to see the person who thought they could get away with drinking my wine,” Eliot replied, taking Quentin’s movement as a sign to sit down on the end of the bed.

“I uh,” Quentin stammered. He hadn’t even considered that anyone would get upset with him drinking their alcohol. It was a party after all, wasn’t that what people did? Still, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Quentin felt his muscles tighten, subconsciously balling himself up. Still holding the evidence in the bottom of his glass, he tried to hide it under his thighs. 

“Oh, aren’t you just an adorable bundle of nerves,” Eliot said with a smile that left his sincerity frustratingly ambiguous. 

Quentin assumed it was sarcasm.

His face must have betrayed his apprehension, because the next thing he knew, Eliot was producing the offending bottle and indicating that Quentin allow him to pour it into his glass. 

“Now now, no need to get all offended,” he said casually, as Quentin found himself accepting the gesture. “This is a Bordeaux, its supposed to be drunk in good company, and since mine has ditched me for a line of coke in your bathroom, you are going to share it with me.”

For the first time that night, Quentin had begun to relax, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol.

Eliot had proved to be far more interesting than anyone Quentin had spoken to earlier at the party. A gate crasher that had stumbled into the party with his friend who vaguely knew one of Julia’s acquaintances. The kind of person you would expect to meet at a party being held in a bar, rather than his own apartment.

Together they laid on their backs, both staring at the ceiling and talking about everything and nothing. Eliot was a year older than he was, but also had no idea what he wanted to do with his life - a refreshing change from the constant talk of Law vs Business school that he was subjected by the circle of friends he always lived on the periphery of. 

“Sometimes I think it would just be best to disappear, you know,” Quentin admitted, turning to face his new friend. 

“To a place in that book you were trying to read when I walked in? Or like, into thin air?” Eliot asked, shifting his own body to meet Quentin’s gaze.

“I don’t know, I, I guess I just..” he started.

Outside the room, they could hear people gathering around and Quentin realised Julia must have been getting everyone ready to wish James a happy birthday. 

“They’re really going to sing?” Eliot must have realised to. “That just seems so unnecessary at our age. Like great, we get it, happy birthday but you’re not twe-“

Without even thinking, Quentin found himself interrupting Eliot with a kiss. Soft and tentative, but somehow lacking the nerves he would have assumed to feel considering he hardly knew him.

“Well this is a development I did not expect,” Eliot said playfully. The older man placed his hand on Quentins side, and pulled him closer. 

This time Quentin kissed him harder, Eliot’s consent spurring him on. He brought his hand up to run through Eliot’s curls, bringing them closer together. He could taste the wine they had been drinking, and the fact that Eliot had smoked a cigarette at some point that night. Normally it would have put him off a potential suitor, but since they had started kissing he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

There was a chemistry he hadn’t experienced before. As if this was what it was supposed to feel like. Of course that could have just been the alcohol talking, but then Eliot was pressing their bodies together and stroking the small of his back and Quentin didn’t care what the cause was. 

He could hear the party singing from the living room, but it felt further away. The touch of Eliot’s tongue to his own cause his heart to race, and before he knew it, his fingers had left the other man’s hair to reach his hips and try and pry the shirt from his trousers. 

“Now, now,” Eliot breathed. “This is silk.” 

Breaking the kiss, Eliot pushed himself to sit upright in the bed. Quentin watched him closely as he first removed his vest, carefully draping it over a lamp on his bedside table. The shirt followed, burgundy silk with paisley print giving way to reveal pale skin and a smattering of almost black hair from his chest to the top of his trousers. 

“Your turn,” he looked back at Quentin hungrily.

Quentin pulled at the hem of his tshirt and brought it up over his head, pulling his hair along with it. Long strands dropped unceremoniously over his face before he ran his hand through and pushed the limp brown strands behind his ears. 

It was Eliot’s turn to initiate the movement, closing the gap as they both kneeled on the bed. Quentin gasped as his felt the other man’s lips on his collar bone, the light touch of teeth against skin caused him to tense up the pressure building in his pants. Eliot must have sensed it too, leaving one hand squeezing the base of his neck, while the other made its way to the front of Quentin’s jeans.

“Q?” 

Quentin’s entire body had tensed up. Standing in the doorway was his best friend holding a paper plate with a generous helping of birthday cake. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he said without thinking. 

“I’m so sorry, I...” she apologised quietly, her eyes focused squarely on the floor. “I’ll just go.”

“Oh thank fuck!” Behind Julia a second female voice rang out, and this time it was Eliot who froze. 

“Nope, that’s my cue to go,” Eliot said, disentangling himself from Quentin’s embrace. “This was good though,” he patted Quentin on the shoulder and made his way off the bed. 

“Come on CinderEliot,” the harsh and slightly nasal tones of the still unseen woman broke the last vestiges of Quentin’s lust. “Pick up your glass slippers so we can bounce before our carriage turns into a pumpkin.” Quentin could almost feel the smirk on her face imprinting into him. 

To his dismay, Eliot was listening to her, or perhaps just paying attention to his own body language. No longer showing his desire, Quentin had defaulted to a nervous, awkward wreck, and everyone else was just making it worse. The tall stranger he had so recently been ready to go down on had already put his shirt back on and was fixing up his vest. 

“I didn’t mean that. You don’t have to go,” he thought. Hoped in vain that he had said out loud. 

Eliot brushed past Julia, who had frozen with embarrassment, and whispered something to his companion causing them both to giggle. He threw a final wanting glance back at Quentin, and the younger man thought he might ask for his number, or at least provide his own, but then he was gone. 

Alone with Julia, he found himself pulling his knees up into his chest, and wishing he could disappear all over again. 

“I think they just called us muggles?” Julia finally broke her silence, her face was scrunched up in confusion. She softened as soon as she looked over to Quentin, half naked in the foetal position. 

“Did you, you want me to go, or I can stay?” She asked him quietly. 

“Go back to the party,” he grumbled. Thankfully she acquiesced without a word.

Quentin was pissed. Both drunk and angry. Everything had been going so well with Eliot, but then Julia had to walk in and remind him that he was in love with her. Always had been, and probably always would be. Most of all he was angry at himself. What kind of an idiot would let a girl he knew would never be into him get in the way of being with a guy who he had to believe clearly was - even if only for a night. 

Eyes closed, he tried to melt himself into the bed. Praying that he had drunk enough to wake up and forget the whole night, he willed himself to a light fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the following morning, and Julia has some grovelling to do and advice to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I finished this chapter it occurred to me that it really should have all been part of the first one. Hence I’m posting it so soon.
> 
> Also, I’ve had to up the warning as this turned a little more NSFW earlier than I thought it would.

Sleep failed to cleanse his memories of what could have been a great night. Quentin woke up sticky mouthed and dehydrated, a sharp stabbing pain behind his left eye making sure he felt just as bad physically as he did emotionally. Piecing together vague snippets from his dreams, he knew he’d spent the entire night subconsciously hating himself for not doing more to keep Eliot in his bed, or for even allowing it to happen in the first place. Perhaps that would have been better. No sexy stranger to give him ideas about what he could feel. Just another night of being antisocial and having Julia come and fix it. 

He needed an aspirin. He wanted an antidepressant. Instead he rolled onto his side, drew the blankets over his head and tried to pretend it wasn’t morning. 

Quentin drifted off to a dreamless rest, only to be woken a couple of hours later. A light thud on his bedside table followed by the fizzing of aspirin in water told him Julia was there, looking after him like she always did. How could he possibly have been mad at her? She was the best friend he had ever had, and it’s not like it was her fault he felt the way he did. Pulling the blankets down, he shuffled closer to the middle of the bed and offered her space to sit down. 

“Hey, Q, I’m so sorry for barging in on you last night,” she said quietly. Taking up his offer, she sat with her back against the head board, and picked up the glass she had brought in. Quentin followed suit, dragging his body up to sit next to her and gratefully taking the medicine. 

“It’s so strange,” she puzzled while Quentin finished drinking. “I wasn’t going to disturb you, though I had considered hiding out with you, at least for a bit. Oh god is it bad if I think James’ friends are so dull?” 

The admission caused Quentin to spit out the last of the aspirin, and they both fell into each other laughing. 

“Seriously Q, I love him, but like, is that what it’s going to be like for the rest of my life?” She asked in earnest. Quentin had a feeling she was avoiding taking about what she had walked in on the night before. Self deprecation and avoidance was his jam, but after spending most of their lives together, she’d picked up the habit too.

“James is hot, I get it,” he said without blinking. “You’ll get married and he’ll make a great name partner at some boring law firm, you’ll give up your job to raise your 2.5 kids with annoyingly WASPy names like Chip and Tinsley and occasionally weird uncle Quentin will come visit to do magic tricks. It’s the dream, right,” he chuckled unconvincingly. 

Julia knew what he was doing. Nearly twenty years of friendship meant that she almost always knew what he was doing. 

“That guy last night,” she broached the subject tentatively. “He was pretty hot.”

“Yeah, but then I fucked it up, like always,” Quentin muttered and wondered why he had thought he wanted to talk about it. Of course the answer was clear. Talking about it would make him miserable and there was a comfort in that. A terrible, downward spiralling comfort, that he hated and yet always craved. 

“You? I did,” she tried to bring him back. “I knew you wanted to be on your own, but then someone said I should make sure you ate some cake too and I just walked in. I won’t lie, I didn’t expect you to be jumping someone’s bones, but like, I should have at least knocked.”

He was bringing her down with him. Not what he had wanted. 

“Doesn’t matter anyway. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. Why would he even want to, I basically screamed out ‘awkward closet case’ when you walked in.”

“But you’re not, well you’re awkward, and a bit of a case...” she said poking him in the ribs. 

“I thought you were supposed to be making me feel better?” He asked, smarting from where her nails had dug into his ribs. 

“Feel better? I brought you aspirin so you wouldn’t be too useless to help me clean up!” She replied. “Honestly though, I’m sorry I interrupted. Promise I won’t do it again.”

“Come on Jules, like that’s ever going to happen again,” he wallowed. The aspirin was kicking in, but he almost wished it wasn’t. It was so easy to be down when his body felt like shit. He slumped back down into the bed and tried to hide himself under the blankets. A cocoon of self loathing and nihilism. 

First taking the glass and putting it on the bedside table, Julia then ripped the blanket from her moping best friend, and pulled him up by his wrists. 

“We’re done feeling sorry for ourselves,” she said forcefully.

Allowing himself to be guided by her, Quentin slipped out from the bed. She threw his arm over her shoulders and pretended to drag him out of the room, his feet following her lead. There was no way she would have been able to do it without his consent, but the charade felt better than if he were to do it all on his own. 

“Go and have a shower, wash your hair, maybe have a think about the hottie last night, I promise it will help” she winked at him. “I’m going to order pizza, and then you’re going to help me clean up after this party, because I am your best friend and I love you.”

Quentin reluctantly agreed and made his way to the bathroom on his own. Turning the shower on first, he removed the jeans that had been so close to being taken off the night before and kicked them into the corner. Underwear followed, and he brushed his hair back off his face before stepping into the steaming water. 

As per usual, Julia was right. The force of the water on his head helped to quell the pain of dehydration and though soap would never be the cure for his feelings of self loathing and dread, it did at least smell good. As per her instructions, Quentin ran the shampoo through his hair, fingers working up a lather and massaging it into his scalp. The feeling reminded him of the night before, and how good it was to have someone else runs their hands through his hair. 

“Goddamnit,” he cursed lightly. Thoughts of Eliot, but also Julia filled his mind and he was getting hard under the heat of the shower. “Jesus, fuck.” The more he willed it away, the harder it became until he had no choice but to take care of it. Hair still covered in bubbles from the shampoo, he ran one hand through it, while the other gripped the soap dish in the wall. Using his foamed up hand he pumped his erection, slow at first, while his mind tried to settle on an image. 

Even though it was wrong, he usually pictured Julia as Carrie Fischer, specifically that photo of her coming out of the ocean dressed as slave Leia. And fuck, that really started to do the trick. Knuckles white around the soap dish, he pumped harder, thumb flicking across the top to feel the pre-cum start to slick. His own fluid made it easier to slide his hand up and down, still thinking about Julia, before she was replaced by an image of Eliot. Cycling through cosplays in his mind, he was surprised to find it settled on the way he remembered him being the night before - shirtless, tight trousers hiding the destination at the end of a dark snail trail. Almost black curls falling forward over his eyes. He tried to remember what colour his eyes were, but all he could picture was white light. 

Toes ached from being curled against the tiles, and his body slumped against the wall. Cum was caught in his short hairs and splashed all through the grout, but the running water made quick work of the cleanup. It did make him feel better, even if he knew it would be brief. His imagination would be the only place he’d have Eliot, just like it had been with Julia, but at least he couldn’t make a dick of himself in there. That would have to be enough. 

Quentin finished finding out his hair, and wandered out of the shower. After he dried himself, he pulled on his jeans, sans dirty boxers, and wandered out of the bathroom. Cool drops landed on his back from where his hair was still wet, with the level of cleanliness Julia required, he would be dry in no time. 

His roommate had already been busy, and most of the trash had been collected in a large garbage bag. She sat crossed legged in the middle of the floor next to the bag, humming as she scrubbed at the corner of a rug. Caught up in the melody, she didn’t notice the knock on the front door, most likely the pizza she ordered. 

“Jules,” he called out. 

“Cash on the bench,” she called out in reply. 

Quentin wandered over to the kitchen bench to collect the money, before opening the door to the pizza delivery guy. He was different to the guy who normally came, but then again it wasn’t exactly a one and done kind of job, so Quentin thought nothing of it. 

“One half vegetarian, half pepperoni for Julia?” The delivery guy asked. 

Quentin nodded, bristling as more cold water drops landed on his bare back. He handed over the cash and took the pizza box over to the counter, expecting the guy to leave. 

“Oh, I can take your trash down for you, if you want,” he offered staring at Quentin. The awkward encounter left Quentin uncomfortable and he wrapped his arms around himself, before stepping further away from the door. 

“No, that’s” Quentin started. 

“Oh my god, really? That would be amazing!” Julie interrupted him. She jumped up from her spot, and grabbed the bag. On her way she noticed a wine bottle left by the front door and shoved it in the garbage.

“Hey, can I see that?” Quentin tried to intercept it, but he was too slow. The delivery guy had already taken the trash from her, and hightailed it down the hall and out of the building. 

Shutting the door behind her, Julia smirked at her half naked roommate. 

“If that’s what happens when you answer the door without your shirt on, you should always do that,” she grinned at him.

“No, no that was weird,” he said nervously, still hugging himself. “Like, creepy serial stalker who is probably going to be rummaging though our trash weird.”

“Come on, he probably just wanted to collect the cans for money,” she tried to reason. 

“Or steal our DNA,” he countered. 

“Shh, you just wanted to keep that bottle because your little tryst from last night left it, oh...” he voice fell flat. She quickly raced over to him and wrapped him in a hug. “I doubt he would have written his number on it or anything.”

Quentin pushed her away. 

“I know this means nothing in the grand scheme of things and that I’ll forgive you in like half an hour, but seriously Jules, right now you’re the worst.” He said forcefully, before storming off to his room. 

Collapsing on his bed, he grabbed the book he’d tried in vain to read the night before and got as close to disappearing as he possiblly could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always critiques are welcomed!


End file.
